


First Times

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bisexual Phil Coulson, Coulson and his ridiculous crush on Skye, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Phil Coulson Backstory, Rimming, Sex in a Car, Sex on a Car, Vaginal Fingering, the one where Coulson gets rimmed on top of Lola by an OC dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:05:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4503678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lola has been with Coulson through a lot of first times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Times

1.

It is _not_ love at first sight.

“Isn’t she a beauty?” His father asks the question in all earnestness, running his hands over the dented frame like it’s something.

Phillip doesn’t answer because answering honestly would probably get him sent to his room.

So, the first time he sees Lola, he pretty much hates her. (Of course, she’s not called Lola, then.)

She’s not old enough to look as bad as she does — banged up, paint a mess

But his father doesn’t give him much choice, so Phillip suffers through it — learning all these details about her design like an anatomy lesson. He has better things to do with his time than fiddle with an old piece of junk, and for a football coach, his father does _not_ understand the importance of going to every baseball practice.

They talk while they work, though.

It’s actually pretty nice; the most time he’s ever spent with his father.

And then one day, one day after all this work and effort, he looks at her and sees it — she’s beautiful.

He doesn’t have words for the way she’s beautiful; it’s the first time he’s seen something beautiful like she is.

But even if he doesn’t know what it means or what to call it, he feels it deep in his bones.

 

2.

He keeps working on her, even after his dad dies.

People seem to assume that it’s a way of being close to his father — and they’re not wrong — but it’s also more than that.

It’s about him, about having something that’s only his, somewhere that’s his.

Maybe it's also about the way she's beautiful.

Phillip spends a lot of time with her, hangs out in the garage working on her in perhaps too much of his spare time, so he won’t find it terribly surprising, when he looks back at it later in life, that the first time he masturbates is in the driver's seat.

It’s after he applies a fresh coat of wax, gets her red paint to the perfect shiny gloss, and he’s hard.

Not like she made him hard, he doesn’t think, just that he’s thirteen and he gets hard sometimes and he only vaguely understands that he can do something about that.

So he does, for the first time, jeans pushed down his thighs as he sits behind her steering wheel.

 

3.

“You’re so funny, Phil,” Michelle giggles.

She’s sprawled out and turned towards him — as much as she can be, anyways, in the passenger seat. Her short skirt is pushed up high, her beer resting tantalizingly between her bare thighs.

He thinks about reaching his hand between her legs to grasp the can, nothing too aggressive, just enough to brush her skin and drink the last of the almost certainly warm beer.

It would be a sexy move, he thinks.

She beats him to it, lifting the beer up and draining it, but leaving her legs just slightly parted. It’s a clear invitation, a clear tease, and his fingers itch to touch her.

He’s nervous about this, though he doesn’t exactly know why. They’ve done this part before, third base in the convertible under the stars.

But the last time was Christmas, during Michelle’s previous visit home, and she didn’t have her fake ID then — the one that says she’s twenty instead of nineteen — so there was no beer.

And tonight, well, she’d asked him to bring condoms.

So it’s different, definitely different. Good different.

It’s not every day you lose your virginity.

“Touch me,” she sighs at him, slipping her fingers through his and bringing his hand to her thigh.

He slides his hand up soft, smooth skin, moving under her skirt as she parts her legs.

“Not so scary, right?” Michelle’s voice is a little teasing, and he tries to school his face, tries to not look a little scared.

“I’m fine,” he promises, and she laughs again.

“No, you’re nervous. I like that you’re nervous. It means you care how this goes.”

“I just want to make it good for you,” he tells her.

She’s a year older, after all, and she’s done this before. He doesn’t want to disappoint her, to leave her with nothing in this.

But he really _really_ wants to do it.

“You’ll make it good for me,” she tells him, as though this isn’t a concern, and then climbs into his lap.

The both of them barely fit in the seat, but when she leans back against the steering wheel, he’s able to push her skirt up and rub against her panties. She’s already wet — the anticipation has done as much for her as for him — so he pushes them aside and slips two fingers inside of her.

She does most of the work in this position, riding his fingers as he presses them into her, as he leans forward to kiss her neck.

He loves it whens he comes around his fingers, the way he can _feel_ her orgasm, like her whole body is clenching around him.

When she comes down, she pushes him back in the seat and grins down at him.

“See? Good for me.”

Then out comes a condom.

He’s lucky that he’s practiced this before because his hands shake as he rolls it down himself, and he thinks it’s something he would fuck it up if he didn’t already know what to do.

It’s overeagerness when he pulls her down into another kiss, his tongue too enthusiastic in her mouth, and she laughs again — but it’s a friendly laugh, not mocking, like she likes his enthusiasm.

And then she sinks down over him.

“Oh, God,” he grunts at the tightness and the heat, and his hands shake as he clutches at her hips.

She moans, too, once she’s taken him all the way inside, and that just makes it better — that it feels good for her, too.

“Just hold on, okay?” Michelle whispers in his ear. “Just hold on.”

He does, he holds on as she starts to rock her hips over his, he grips her hips and holds on when she leans further back, when she starts to moan his name.

He holds on until he _can’t_ hold on anymore, and it’s too soon — he knows it’s too soon — when he loses it inside of her, his face pressed against her breasts as he grunts through an orgasm.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and Michelle laughs again — again not mocking, maybe even more delighted.

“No need for apologies,” she promises him, but he knows she didn’t really come, that at best she got close.

Phil opens the door and pushes them out into the grass, and — after getting rid of the condom — pulls off Michelle’s panties and presses his tongue to her clitoris.

Half an hour later, he has his second time in the grass beside Lola, and he doesn’t feel like apologizing after.

 

4.

“I’m pushing Fury to let me upgrade her.”

“Upgrade her with thirty-year old parts?”

“Thirty-year old parts from Howard Stark’s design!”

“You’re cute, Phil,” Jeff tells him, a bit of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Coulson has always liked his smile — it’s bright and playful, his teeth perfect and white against his dark skin, his eyes sparkling and kind.

Sexy. It’s a sexy smile. Even Melinda May melts at Jeff’s smile.

“I’m cute?”

“Downright adorable.”

Coulson raises his eyebrow, tries to look intimidating — or at least something other than cute or _downright adorable_ — but Jeff’s smile just gets wider.

 _Sexy_.

He turns back to the road, does a dry swallow.

They’ve been playing this game lately, tiptoeing to the edge of something, and the truth is that he’s done trying to convince himself it’s something he shouldn’t want.

Tonight, they’re out celebrating Jeff’s assignment, his promotion and placement on another team, and it means that the last good reason he’s got — the fact that it would directly break protocol — is gone.

He thinks they’re both aware of it, that it’s been in the air all evening.

Anyways, he hopes he’s not imagining it.

He doesn’t break Lola out of storage every day.

“Pull over here,” Jeff suggests, and Coulson does, pulls into a nice little deserted park. His hands shake a little as he sets the parking brake, but he gathers himself, tries to pretend that he vaguely knows what he’s doing.

It’s still startling when Jeff gets out of the car and circles the front to lean back on the hood.

“Come on, Phil. Star gaze with me.”

There’s way too much light pollution out here to see more than five or six stars, and Coulson can’t quite bite back a silly grin as he leaves the car.

“You want to do some bird watching, too?”

“Wrong time of year. But this is a perfect night for watching submarine races.”

Coulson actually laughs and turns towards him, looking for another one, when he finds Jeff’s lips pressed to his.

It’s different kissing someone facial hair, different kissing someone who’s so much taller and more muscular, but it’s a good different.

Jeff’s tongue touches his, and Coulson groans.

It’s a _very_ good different, and it’s Jeff which makes it even better.

They break apart, and suddenly he’s panting for breath.

“Phil —”

Coulson slides his hand behind Jeff’s head and pulls him into another kiss, lets his fingers play through the coarse hair on the back of his partner’s head, lets himself get pushed back onto Lola’s hood.

It’s different to part his legs and feel another erection pressed against his own, but it’s still a good different, a good feeling, and they rub against each other as they kiss.

“Where do you want this to go?” Jeff finally asks, as short of breath as Coulson feels.

“I don’t know,” he answers, honestly. “I’ve never done this before.”

“You’re kidding. Phil Coulson is a virgin?”

“No, just never…with a man.”

That gets him another smile, wide and bright in the moonlight, and it makes his cock twitch.

“Lie back,” Jeff instructs him, pressing him harder into Lola’s hood. “Just tell me if you need me to stop or slow down, okay? Nothing scary, I promise.”

And, well, it’s _all_ a little scary if he’s being honest. His last first time was scary, too.

But it’s a good scary.

He shivers at the cool night air on his chest as his shirt is opened and Jeff presses a finger to his nipple, scrapes lightly over it with the back of his fingernail.

Very good scary.

He finds himself stripped naked, writhing desperately on Lola’s hood as he feels facial hair scratch lightly down his chest for the first time, a man’s lips drifting down his groin for the first time. Jeff's lips.

Coulson groans at the feeling of his tongue tracing past his cock, down behind his balls, down against —

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he grunts and curls a leg around Jeff’s neck, opening himself up.

It feels like too soon that the tongue is replaced with a finger.

“Okay, Phil?”

“Yes,” he answers, although he’s honestly not sure he _is_ okay, thinks it’s possible that he’s about to die from the sensory overload. “ _Yes._ ”

He comes harder than he’s ever come, on Lola’s hood with a finger inside of him for the first time.

(And after a few minutes to gather himself, he returns the favor.)

 

5.

“Take whatever parts you want,” Fury had told him before disappearing.

And then he was left alone with historic pieces of technology, with the remains of the same car that Howard Stark had tried to demonstrate at the 1943 World’s Fair.

Coulson’s father had been there, just a boy, at that Fair. They had talked about it once while restoring Lola.

He’s not an engineer or a mechanic, but he understands cars — he understands Lola — inside and out. And his father _was_ an engineer (before SHIELD hid him away for protection in Wisconsin), an engineer obsessed with Howard Stark’s flying car, which means that Coulson actually has prototype blueprints for how to modify her.

His father would love that he can finally do this, and Lola has been in storage entirely too long.

It feels kind of appropriate that she gets a new life at the same time as he does.

Back in his own garage, he takes her apart lovingly and reassembles her — reassembles her with thrusters and flight and some light weaponry.

She’s somehow even more beautiful.

And after he applies a fresh coat of wax, after he admires the perfect shine on her perfect paint job, he’s hard.

And maybe she did make him hard, or maybe it’s just that he feels like he’s still rediscovering his body after a long recovery in Tahiti, but either way he climbs into the driver’s seat and slides his basketball shorts down his thighs, bare ass on Lola’s leather seat.

He likes the feel of that.

He wraps his fist around himself and starts to pump his hand — the first time he’s done this since he almost died. Or barely died, maybe.

It’s familiar, but different somehow, kind of like Lola is.

(And yeah, okay, he’s thinking about his superpowered car when he comes, but she’s _really cool_.)

 

6.

He’s still panting for breath when he looks over and meets her eyes.

It’s the adrenaline that makes him want to jump her — to push her back into Lola’s passenger seat against the door and _fuck_ her, hard, so he knows that she’s alive and that he is, too.

It’s the adrenaline, and he knows it, and that makes it easier to ignore.

But it’s not the adrenaline that makes him want to kiss her.

That’s been there for so much longer, but he’s never had a name for it before this, not even when he sat over her hospital bed fighting with himself because he couldn’t let her die, couldn’t lose her.

He’s never felt this way before, which is part of what has made it so hard to put a name on it. After all, he’s been in love with other people, so at first he had just naively assumed that what he felt for her couldn’t be love — not if it was so different.

The moment he saw the video of her getting on the Bus with Ward, though, it suddenly became startlingly clear.

Of course he’s in love with her.

Maybe being in love with a new heart just feels different, or maybe it feels different because it’s Skye and nothing about Skye would ever feel normal or average or like anything else.

His thoughts are interrupted by an oblivious parking attendant.

Yeah, he’s completely fucked.

 

7.

Skye tucks the Caterpillar folder between the seats, where it won’t blow away, and runs her hands around the circumference of the steering wheel.

“Have you ever let someone besides me drive her?”

“No,” he answers. “You’re the first.”

She grins at that, like it’s an accomplishment. He supposes it is.

It’s the first time he’s been in the passenger seat, actually, since he sat here with his father.

“You trust me,” she tells him, like it’s teasing instead of just a fact.

“Of course I trust you.”

She smiles at him and reaches over, touches his left arm above the elbow, her eyes clearly asking if this is okay.

He smiles.

And then she kisses him.

It’s a light little brush of lips over his, the kind of touch that leaves him tingling, and she’s gone before he has a chance to even react.

It takes him a moment to open his eyes, to see her looking at him.

“Skye,” he sighs her name, a happy little breath of air.

“Sorry,” she whispers, shaking her head to herself.

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I am, though. I meant to wait.”

“What were you going to wait for?”

“To finish mourning? To get back to normal?”

“Normal?” The thought is laughable.

“Normal _ish_ ,” she corrects.

“And how will we know when things are normal _ish_?”

“When I don’t feel like crying all the time, and you’re ready to drive Lola again?”

He smiles and turns more towards her, and he’d like to touch her, but he finds he needs his right hand to stabilize himself.

“Those are good things to wait for.”

“So we should wait.”

“Yes,” he agrees.

“And just to be clear, when we’re done waiting —”

It’s awkward to maneuver towards her — not something he’s done from this angle, not something he’s done without a left hand — but he manages to lean in enough to kiss her.

He lingers longer than she did, long enough for her to respond, for the tentative kiss to grow into something more sure of itself.

When he pulls back, her eyes are closed, mouth gently parted, and if he had a left hand — if he had a hand that wasn’t stabilizing him on the dash — he would drag his thumb across her lower lip.

And then her eyes open, clear and wide and smiling.

“As long as we’re on the same page.” She’s grinning at him as they move back into their own seats.

So they press pause on this, until things are normal _ish_. Until she's finished mourning her parents and he's finished mourning his hand, until he's ready to drive Lola again.

It still counts as their first kiss, though; something he carries with him.

 

8.

They’ve just left another prospective recruit, someone whose gift allows him to affect the emotions of those around him, though in a limited way.

“You think he’ll be okay?” Coulson asks as he looks back at the house where the young man lives with his mother.

“Yeah,” she answers, “he will. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, and if he has trouble…”

“He’ll call you,” Coulson finishes.

People trust Skye. It makes her good at this job. And the fact that such trust is always well placed, that she would never abuse it, makes her even better.

Coulson stops at Lola’s passenger door and watches as Skye circles around to the driver’s side door.

She pauses, though, before getting in.

“Do you maybe want to drive?”

He’s been waiting for her to ask it, honestly, hasn’t wanted to make it his business to point out that it’s been a month since his surgery, and he’s ready to drive Lola.

But, god, he’s so ready for this, and not for the driving part. The other part. The normal _i_ _sh_ part.

For some reason, it becomes awkward to answer her question, though.

“I’m ready to drive her,” he agrees, but she must hear the hesitation in his voice.

“But…?”

“But maybe you should keep driving.”

“You don’t want to?”

“No, I…”

Coulson closes his eyes. He’s so stupidly nervous for something he’s so ready for.

“Skye,” he manages. “Would you please drive us somewhere where I can kiss you?”

And if he worries for a second that it’s too forward, her wide smile alleviates that fear.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I can do that.”

They climb in the car, and he reaches across the console to touch her, the prosthetic hand brushing against her thigh.

He pauses, trying to figure out if it bothers her, and is incredibly relieved to feel her hand curve around it. It’s the first time he’s touched somebody with it, the first time someone has touched it outside of medical examinations.

Thanks to the nerve-like sensors and the way it is grafted to his arm, he can _feel_ her — the warmth and smoothness of her skin — and it makes the hand feel more like his own than it has since he woke up from the surgery.

Slowly, Skye turns his hand so his palm is pressed into her leg, so his fingers curl onto her inner thigh, so he can feel the seam in the denim against the tip of his middle finger.

“Okay?” She asks, and maybe her voice is shaking.

“ _Y_ _es_ ,” he answers, and flexes his fingers against her.

He doesn’t stop touching her for the duration of their drive — a short one, anyways, since Skye decides that kissing in nearby state park seems like a good idea.

Coulson has to agree.

She stops the car in a secluded little spot tucked behind a grove of trees, though the whole area is deserted anyways.

And then she’s in his lap.

“I’ve been waiting for you to tell me you were ready to drive Lola,” she murmurs against his mouth.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

He slides his right hand behind her head and kisses her, nothing tentative or nervous about it, and she kisses back with equal enthusiasm.

It’s been a bright spot for him — he’d be lying if he claimed otherwise — this thought that Skye wants him. He’s kept it with him in darker moments over the past six weeks, as he’s been struggling to get things exactly right with his new hand.

 _Skye wants him_.

And to have her pressed against him, straddling him, pressing down against his erection, is breathtaking.

Making out turns into _more_ really quickly, grinding against each other in the passenger seat, and then she drops her hands to his groin, so she’s feeling out the shape of him in his slacks.

“Is this okay?”

Her voice is unsteady and her hands shake and he can see her nipples poking through the t-shirt she’s wearing, and _Skye wants him_. It’s like fireworks in his chest, and like maybe he should make sure he’s actually alive.

“Yes,” he answers. “Yes, _Skye._ ”

It takes her no time to get his slacks open, so that her fingers circle around his cock and he’s groaning as she strokes him.

He manages to get her jeans open, enough that he can slip his hand inside and press fingers to the center of her, to feel just how wet she is.

“Couslon,” she whispers against his lips. “Would you mind if we just…”

She swallows, like this is something awkward.

“Skye?”

“I’m so ready,” she admits, grinding herself down against his fingers. “I just...I want you.”

He kisses her, too wet and hard and eager, his tongue unpracticed in her mouth, but he can’t help himself.

Taking off her jeans is difficult, requires more complex maneuvering, but they manage to get her naked from the waist down, straddling him.

“I have a condom,” he whispers.

“Do you always carry around a condom?”

“I haven’t needed one in a long time,” he reminds her. “But after we…”

“So you’ve been carrying around a condom in case I decided to jump you?”

“Pretty much,” he agrees, and Skye laughs, lets go of his cock to cup his cheeks in her hands.

“That’s kind of hot, Coulson.” She says it like _hot_ and _cute_ are pretty much interchangeable. “But we don’t need it.”

He nods.

“I haven’t been with anyone since I…” She waggles her fingers in front of his face. “I think it should be safe, though. I haven't lost control in a long time.”

“We can stop if we need to,” he promises, and she nods.

And then she positions herself and slowly sinks down over him.

It’s slow, a slow careful plunge, and when she’s finally taken him all the way in, she groans and drops her head forward to his shoulder.

It feels like an eternity passes, buried inside of Skye as she leans into him, breathing slow and shallow like she’s adjusting to the stretch of him inside of her.

And then she moves.

“ _Skye_ ,” he gasps her name at the sensation.

He clutches her hips, grip almost too hard as they start to move together. She’s impossibly tight around him, and it’s all he can do to hold on.

“ _Coul_ son,” she sighs his name, and he wonders if he should ask her to call him Phil. He wonders if it’s wrong that he loves the way she says his name, chants it almost, as she moves on top of him.

It’s almost surprising when she gets there before he does, shuddering on top of him and making more groaning little sighs of his name.

As soon as he feels it, he starts to move more underneath her, chasing his own orgasm, more little fireworks in his chest.

He wraps his arms around her, face buried in her neck, as he comes down.

“We should go find a bed and take our time doing that again,” he whispers under her ear.

“Our beds are a few states away,” she reminds him, and he nods.

“There’s a hotel not far from here. Maybe we were detained on some pressing business.”

She laughs and pulls back, opens Lola’s door so she can clean up and get dressed.

“I think I like the sound of that,” she tells him, leaning in to kiss him again. “Is it weird that I’m glad we did it in Lola, though?”

He grins at that.

“No, not weird at all.”

 

 


End file.
